


Celestial Bodies

by UrbanHymnal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Star John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanHymnal/pseuds/UrbanHymnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He will destroy John and John will let him. John is radiant now, but Sherlock is a black hole, taking and taking, glorious in his destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celestial Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Chinese translation by PapayaTwilight available at the link provided in the comments below.  
> Russian translation by inflammatrix available at http://ficbook.net/readfic/1808117

Sherlock licks a long line along John’s hipbone, tastes the universe in the dip where groin and thigh meet. Stardust. John’s blood hums with it. Sherlock hungers for more, ravenous to soak up every inch of light that John can provide. Sherlock knows he is greedy. He will destroy John and John will let him. John is radiant now, but Sherlock is a black hole, taking and taking, glorious in his destruction.

He sucks bruised nebulae along John’s fragile skin, pulls everything that John has to give to the surface. John arches his back, a perfect curve, and gasps above him. Sherlock gets his bearings, plots his course (always) according to John. His fingers dip lower and lower to rest between John’s legs. Caresses, rubs, presses. His lips and tongue follow. He has charted this path before, though never with John to guide him, never with John’s hand gently resting against his head.

In between pillow-softened moans, John mutters Sherlock’s name. Sherlock’s blood pounds downward, an accompanying symphony to John’s own. Mars clashes in Sherlock’s head; strings and percussion fight gloriously along his nerves, terrifying and overwhelming in their urgency. He pants into the dark humidity between John’s legs, for a moment lost, before finding his way again. He presses another finger in, takes the length of John into his mouth.

John tenses and cries out. At his zenith, John is a brilliant star gone supernova, luminous and hot against and around Sherlock’s fingers. Everything else is lost, burnt away, leaving nothing but John there and Sherlock here.

_Beautiful._

Sherlock gasps and thrusts his hips down into the bedding. He bites his lips to keep from shouting; the mattress under him grows damp.

Silence falls between them. Afraid to look at him full on, Sherlock dares a quick glance at John's face. John rolls his head and meets his gaze. His hair clings to his forehead; a line of sweat marks its path across John’s skin, falls to earth. He licks his lips and stares at Sherlock, the color of his eyes vast and deep. “Didn’t think you cared about things like this?”

Sherlock turns away, confesses into the darkness. “Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”  

John rests a palm against his neck and traces warmth down to Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock shudders even as he basks in it. Terror and awe settle in his chest, fill him up, as he tries to quash thoughts of how quickly a star can burn up.


End file.
